


déjà vu

by veterization



Category: Persona 4
Genre: M/M, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterization/pseuds/veterization
Summary: Yosuke's one night of gay experimentation with a stranger wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't turned out that the same guy ended up being the transfer student that spring.





	déjà vu

**Author's Note:**

> Every now and then, Persona comes knocking on my brain like "HELLO. YOU'RE GOING TO PLAY ME AGAIN. _NOW_." And here we are. I've had this plot in my head for years but didn't remember enough details about the game/characters at the time to do it justice, but it has finally been given the time and energy it deserves. (PS: This story could have also easily been called Yosuke Hanamura's Big Gay Panic. Although that might just be the title of Yosuke's entire life biography.)
> 
> As a heads up, this story flips back and forth between winter of 2011 and spring of 2011 when Souji first transfers.

**4/13/2011**

This week just couldn’t get any worse, Yosuke thinks as he barrels headfirst into a trash can and his bike goes careening off straight into his next paycheck, which will no doubt be paying for any repairs it’ll need.

Yosuke knows, miserably, that having someone detangle him from garbage is definitely the bottom of the barrel. He worms his way out of the can, knees aching and head ringing just a little, and turns to thank his benefactor, who—

“Whew, you saved— _you?_ ”

—is none other than his bad idea one night stand.

Fuck.

\--

**2/10/2011**

“It’s normal to have urges,” his father says over dinner while Yosuke tries to find an emergency exit out of this nightmare of a conversation. “I had plenty when I was your age. Not that I listened to all of them—you probably wouldn’t have ever been born if I _had_ —but there’s no harm in just _thinking_ about them.”

“Dad,” Yosuke says, helpless.

“Teenage boys are just wired that way.” Yosuke’s dad turns to his mother, grinning. “And sometimes grown men too, am I right, honey?”

“That’s true,” she says, and Yosuke withers a little further into himself. She wasn’t even here when Yosuke started this conversation. By now he’s just wondering what the fuck he was thinking starting it at all.

“Anyway, just be safe. And think with your upstairs head, not with your downstairs one.” His dad stops to chew a forkful of steak. “Does that answer your question, Yosuke?”

No, no, it does not. But Yosuke is not going to make the mistake of repeating himself. As a matter of fact, he’s never going to speak to his father _ever again_.

“Sure,” he says, and decides to turn to the internet, even if he is running the risk of the government one day printing out a list of his search history. At the least the internet doesn’t use words like _urges_.

Later that night, safe in the confines of his room, Yosuke sits, huddled like a fugitive, over the bright light of his computer.

_what does it mean if i find a guy attractive_

_am i gay if i sometimes think about guys in the shower_

_is it normal to have weird thoughts at sixteen_

He keeps obsessively deleting his browser history every fifteen seconds, just in case. Every few minutes, he checks over his shoulder just to make sure his parents haven’t materialized behind his back just to judge him.

He’s safe on those fronts. But he’s not safe from the _answers_ from his web searches, all of which point in the same direction: you won’t know until you try. And Yosuke really, really, _really_ wanted to avoid that. All he was looking for was a home remedy, like knock back three chamomile teas a day and all those errant thoughts will just _disappear_ , or the even better alternative, that the internet as a whole would all agree that these weird feelings are the product of too little sleep and are bound to go away in five to seven business days.

How would he even go about _trying it_? If he can’t even get himself to say the words aloud to himself, how is he supposed to articulate what he wants to another living, breathing soul who could then, inevitably, spread a rumor that would ruin Yosuke for the rest of his school career?

He closes Google out like it’s let him down—which it _has_ —and then turns his computer off too for good measure. 

This is fine. He’ll just sweat it out, like a fever, except that fever is made of persistent gay fantasies.

\--

**4/13/2011**

It’s ten times harder to focus on school when the guy you experimentally slept with recently is only a desk away. Also, it doesn’t help that Yosuke keeps being unable to stop from sneaking glances, and every time he does that, he’s bombarded with memories of Souji’s hand down his pants and Souji’s warm breath in his mouth.

This is some kind of sick joke. This is Yosuke’s big gay exploration coming back to haunt him, even though he rode the train for a whole goddamn hour. How far is he supposed to go next time? Hop on a plane to a different continent?

Wait, next time?!

By the time class lets out, Yosuke just wants to grab his bag and make a beeline for the exit. It’s bad enough that he has to share a homeroom with his one night stand for the next year, he’s not going to torture himself by interacting with him more than strictly necessary.

His plan is sharply impeded when he looks up from his desk, already poised to get the hell out of dodge, and sees Souji standing there. And shit, has he gotten _taller_? All the saliva drains out of Yosuke’s mouth.

“Hi,” he says. Something in his expression looks almost apologetic. Yosuke can’t help but wonder if he regrets everything as much as Yosuke does, and if so, why is that so hard for Yosuke to not take offense to?

He winces. “Hi. What a coincidence, huh?”

“Yeah. When I told you I was moving here in the spring, why didn’t you mention you lived here?”

Dear lord, Souji _did_ say something about moving, didn’t he? Yosuke was just so wrapped up in his own hysterics and a whirlwind of hormones that he didn’t even process it. He opens his mouth to say something—explain himself, propose a vow of silence, beg for mercy—but before he can get any words out, Chie comes stomping up to his desk. He waits for her to tear him a new one about her precious Trial of the Dragon, but then Chie turns to Souji and grins.

“Hey!” she says. “Finding your way around the school yet?” At Souji’s nod, she gestures to Yosuke. “Yosuke moved from a big city, too. I bet he could give you a few tips.”

A pitiful noise whines and dies in Yosuke’s throat.

“Ah. Chie. Let’s not bother the guy.”

“Bother? I’m just saying you could help him out, is all!” Chie says, defensive. “You know what? You should take him to Junes. Show him around a bit.”

“W-what?”

“I’ll come too!” Chie says, apparently taking it upon herself to make friends on Yosuke’s behalf. “You can pay me back for Trial of the Dragon. Get us steak or something. You want to come, Yukiko?”

_How did this happen?!_ Yosuke wouldn’t mind a convenient earthquake right now as a distraction. He glances at Souji, who offers him a contrite shrug. Yosuke’s cheeks heat up.

\--

**2/11/2011**

Yosuke knows that if he has any hope of nipping his little problem in the bud, he has to branch out a bit, geographically speaking.

He had every hope of shoving the issue deep into a closet, pun intended, but the thing is, Valentine’s Day is coming up, and nothing makes Yosuke feel like more of a dateless loser than Valentine’s Day. To add insult to injury, this year he’s a dateless, horny loser with stray thoughts about guys’ bodies. He needs to wrangle those thoughts back to shore, but there’s just no good way to steer a boat without actually being on it.

He has the brilliant idea to check online on Craigslist. People meet there all the time, and it’s mostly anonymous, in the genius way the internet tends to be. And it’s not like Yosuke has to _act_ on any of this if he doesn’t want to. That’s another way the internet is marginally better—you can _hide_ there while exploring your sordid fantasies, which is something you can’t do in, say, a real life strip club or gay bar.

God, just the _thought_ of entering a gay bar makes Yosuke feel like he’s about to break out into hives.

Yeah, the internet is a much safer bet. Yosuke can vet people from the safe distance behind his computer screen and find someone far, far, _far_ away to experiment with. He’ll just put up a casual post on the personal section of Craigslist about wanting to try out new things and see what happens.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Yosuke mutters under his breath for the umpteenth time, as if saying it out loud will somehow make it true. Yosuke very much _can_ believe he’s doing this, even if he currently has the heart stability of a hummingbird and feels a little nauseous as he fills out a post.

_Hi. I’m Yosuke._

Yosuke stops. Backspace backspace backspace. Best to keep a certain level of anonymity here.

_Hi. I’m a 16-year-old guy looking for another guy my age to hang out with and have a no-strings attached hook-up with. I just want to figure out if the whole guy-guy thing is for me. No joke responses plz._

He thinks about adding in a bit about offering Junes coupons as a deal, but then decides that veers on the edge of desperation. Also, it might just get more guys to reply to this, and Yosuke still isn’t sure if that’s something he really _wants._ He, ashamedly, sort of just wants to call it a wash here. He tried, and that’s that. Can’t fish if nothing’s biting. Can’t buy sausage without a butcher. Can’t—okay, whatever, Yosuke just needs to stop looking at this website now.

\--

**4/13/2011**

How all three of them end up in the Junes food court is beyond Yosuke. Chie is carrying the conversation, bombarding Souji with questions that Souji’s politely answering, and Yosuke—Yosuke is just trying to not combust into an explosion of his own discomfort. He’s so tightly wound he’s pretty sure that one glance in his direction and he’s going to burst into tiny fragments of clockwork.

It doesn’t get any better when Saki-senpai shows up and Yosuke makes a complete fool blubbering all over himself, only for Saki to focus all her attention on Souji. Yeah, the guy has a weird, cosmic pull about himself, Yosuke _gets_ it, but it still isn’t fair.

“Nah, he’s a great guy,” Souji says when Saki starts ragging on him, and Yosuke sort of never wants to see sunlight again. He’ll just stay in his room, beg to be homeschooled, and never reemerge.

It _also_ doesn’t help that Chie keeps shooting him strange looks. Is he being that obvious? Can she read his big gay rendezvous right off his face? He just wants to talk to Souji, face-to-face, without her around, so they can sort this out. Or alternatively, he just—for once—wants his dad to swoop in and demand he start picking up a shift _now_ so he can avoid this conversation altogether.

He gets his wish in the former when Chie goes off in search of the bathroom. An awkward silence descends on the table a moment after she leaves, Yosuke finding it hard to address anything other than his can of soda.

“So, um,” he starts. “Maybe we should talk about what happened.”

“Maybe,” Souji says.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

It probably wasn’t the right thing to say. A flash of surprise crosses Souji’s face, followed by quick hurt.

“Not—not that you seem like the kind of guy to blab something like that all over town,” Yosuke hurries to add. “I just—wanted to make sure.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Souji says. Yosuke wishes he could read even a _single_ emotion into his words. “That seems like your business.”

“Good. Wait.” The breath of relief Yosuke had poised to exhale is promptly vacuumed back into his lungs. “There isn’t any—I mean, my business isn’t—there is no business.” He offers up an awkward laugh to try and defuse the tension. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not like that.”

Souji looks at him, silent. He’s probably thinking of how much Yosuke liked having his dick sucked by another guy. It’s definitely what Yosuke’s thinking of. Not that he wants to, it’s just that Souji’s mouth is _right there_ and making it hard to think about anything else.

“I guess I should thank you,” Yosuke says, because he likes to keep digging and digging even though he’s well past the point of preparing his own grave. “I wanted to see if I was—well, you know. And now I know.”

“Now you know?”

“Yeah. I definitely don’t swing that way. And I mean, who would, with the girls at our school?”

Souji fixes him with an odd look. It’s almost exactly like the one Chie gave him, like everyone else is in on something that Yosuke is being purposefully excluded from. Did he turn into Pinocchio overnight and nobody told him? How is it that everyone is looking at him like they found his diary and know all his deepest, darkest secrets?

“So we really don’t have to mention what happened again, right?” Yosuke asks. His hand finds the back of his neck, fingernails scratching hard enough to hurt.

“If you want,” Souji says.

“Great. Thanks, dude. I owe you one.” The blowjobs come to mind again, even with Yosuke consciously trying to block all that out. “You know, you never told me what it is you got out of… that day.”

Souji looks at him, eyes full of words Yosuke can’t seem to translate.

“I’m back!” Chie yells, rejoining their table and causing Yosuke to quickly shut the fuck up. “Hey, before I forget—have either of you guys heard of that Midnight Channel rumor?”

\--

**2/12/2011**

Yosuke expects (or hopes) to get no responses. So when he checks his email, it takes all of his determination to not look at it through the protective shield of his fingers.

Most of the replies are immediate throwaways, like the ones who are already suggesting love hotels in the area to meet up at. It’s not like Yosuke needs to be wined-and-dined, but damn, an introduction would be preferred. Also, he has the sneaking suspicion that some of these messages are from men in their sixties.

One stands out. It doesn’t seem awful, given that there are sentences that Yosuke doesn’t shrink away from reading.

_Hey No-Strings-Attached. Want to meet up? Also a 16-year-old boy. I live in the Sagamihara area. No pressure. We could hang out first and see what happens._

Yosuke gulps. _See what happens._ He has never been more terrified in his entire life. In this case, the _what_ most definitely means sex, and it was sex Yosuke was asking for, and suddenly he feels a kid who found the adults-only pornography section of the video store, like he’s poking around somewhere he definitely doesn’t belong.

But still can’t get himself to leave.

The guy said they could just hang out. No pressure. And Sagamihara, that’s a good hour’s drive away, and a big city at that. There’s very little chance Yosuke could run into someone he knows there while he’s on his illicit sex mission, which would probably send him hightailing back to the train long before he ever meets the guy.

Speaking of—Yosuke’s just now seeing that the guy attached a picture. For one petrifying moment, Yosuke’s worried that he’s just opened up a dick shot and his computer is about to descend into a virus hellscape, but then a completely innocuous picture of a boy in a gray polo shirt pops up.

He’s not bad looking. Maybe a little stern, but he’s well-built, and if he was here in Inaba, he would stand out. And okay, maybe the longer Yosuke peers doubtfully at his photo, like he’s waiting for his penis to recoil, the better looking the guy gets.

After an embarrassing amount of time passes during which all Yosuke does is stare at the guy’s face, he realizes the implications with a sprinkling of dread in his stomach. He probably needs to send a picture back, and there come those doubts that there is a possibility that this is a prank from those jerks on the basketball team and tomorrow they’re going to post this entire exchange all over the school bulletin boards and Yosuke will forever be _that guy_ who looked for a gay hook-up online and—

Okay, maybe that does sound a little far-fetched. Paranoia just happens to be Yosuke’s strong suit.

He writes back.

_Hey, city boy. I used to live kinda near there too. Now I’m out in the sticks, but it’s cool. I attached a pic of me 2. Let me know what u think._

He finds a conveniently blurry photograph of himself from last summer where he still looks reasonably good-looking. He has the sinking feeling that he’s out of this guy’s league, but he’s already waded this far into the pool, so he might as well just get in. The water’s going to be cold no matter what, considering that there is going to be a cock involved that isn’t his own—there fly Yosuke’s hysterics again—so he can probably handle a rejection, if one’s coming.

\--

**4/16/2011**

So befriending his one night stand is probably not the smartest thing Yosuke’s ever done. To be fair, it wasn’t his idea—it just sort of happened after Chie came up to them and started talking about what she saw on the Midnight Channel, and then one thing lead to another, and then they were inside a fucking TV and suddenly Yosuke had new problems.

The worst part of all of this is that he can’t even _tell_ anyone. He can’t sit someone down and start talking about the ill-advised sex he had with a stranger back when he was feeling some particularly curious (and strong) hormones, even if that story does end with a firm declaration of Yosuke’s straightness. He’s pretty sure that whole tale would end up being counterproductive to such an end goal.

Especially the bit where Yosuke can’t stop thinking about Souji’s mouth wrapped around his dick.

Yosuke rolls around in his bed a few times, eventually deciding that smothering his face in a pillow and screaming for a bit is the best course of action. He realizes too late that his pillowcase is really due for a wash, and that it’s not really that great at stifling sound anyway.

“Yosuke?” his mother asks from where she’s peeking into his room a moment later. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” Yosuke says. “Sorry, mom.”

He watches her shut the door behind her, then throws his face back into the pillow. What is he supposed to do? Take his deepest, darkest secret, one he fully wanted to take to the grave, and blare it to the world? What would people say? How would they look at him? They’d all think he was _gay_. And he’s not. He’s not gay. So he just has to stew in his own secret alone until the end of time.

He just... shouldn’t let it bother him. It happened, but now it’s over, and he needs to move on and stop letting it hold him at gunpoint. Souji is a nice guy, and it would suck to lose him as a friend because of an unfortunate incident in their past. That just so happened to involve seeing each other naked.

_Whatever_. It’s over. He’s realized he’s straight. He’s done with the gay thoughts. Unsubscribed. Cancel his membership. Hard pass.

He decides to take a shower, thinking determinedly about girls all the while. Girls look so soft and giggly and beautiful—to not want them feels like some kind of crime. He tries to think about them naked while he soaps up, about what it would feel like to touch a naked girl. He thinks about Yukiko, how she would look all steamed up in the hot springs of her family’s inn, lets the hot water from the shower head bring that fantasy to life. He grabs his cock, trying to validate what he knows perfectly well to be true, that this _works_ , that he’s straight, that he’s overcomplicating unnecessarily.

Except without his permission, the fantasy starts changing, morphing into something else, into firmer flesh, harder features. Yosuke’s still in the hot springs, but there are strong arms around him, and gray hair in his eyes, and something about this mirage is starting to feel familiar, less like imagination and more like memory.

Yosuke jerks to turn off the water, hand abandoning his dick like it’s a hot potato. No more showers. Or no more letting his mind _wander_ while he showers. He can still see remnants of his fantasy in the steam, and it feels a little bit like it’s choking him.

Maybe they don’t have to be friends, he and Souji. Maybe Yosuke will keep his distance and they’ll just be classmates who occasionally solve a mystery. Maybe that would be best. At least until he can get this… mental hang-up, to put it nicely, dealt with.

\--

**2/15/2011**

_Hey No Strings,_  
_You want to meet up this Saturday? We could go get coffee and chat._  
_City Boy_  
_PS: Happy Valentines Day._  


Yosuke reads the message like he’s an entity floating outside of his own body. He’s never seen a sentence in which the word _chat_ carried so much weight, and it’s freaking him out a bit. They’re going to _chat_ about if they want to have sex. And Yosuke is probably going to ruin the whole thing by throwing up about four times beforehand.

He writes back a confirmation that okay, he’ll be there, and what’s the address? God, how are they already at the bit where they exchange details about the plan? This is all just going so fast. Yosuke fully expected this correspondence to take a few weeks of back and forth before arranging an actual meeting, but perhaps he was underestimating the power of sex and just how badly people want it.

City Boy writes back two hours later with an address and that he’s excited to meet Yosuke. Yosuke has never been more petrified in his entire life.

\--

**4/17/2011**

Things don’t go well the following day with the weapons in Junes. And really, Yosuke wasn’t thinking. He was firmly wrapped up in images of heroism and avenging Saki-senpai and how cool he might look waving a katana around, and now he’s sitting in the police station wondering when he became such an utter doofus.

Souji isn’t a doofus. Souji is a natural born leader, a smart kid who can say so much with so few words, a guy who agreed to go back with Yosuke into the TV just because Yosuke asked, even though Chie was loudly protesting the entire time.

Their knees are touching a smidge. Yosuke shifts his leg out of the way, and can see Souji glancing at him in his peripherals. He just wishes he knew how to act in this situation. He needs to see a goddamn manual, something that gives him instructions on how to treat your kind-of-ex slash one-time-only booty call slash new friend and investigative partner.

The station is noisy, phones trilling and coffee machines bubbling and chatter coming from every which way, but Yosuke still feels like his and Souji’s silence is oppressive. He wants to say something, he’s just not sure what.

“Uh. Sorry,” is what Yosuke finally settles on. Souji’s head turns to face him. “About this. Getting us arrested. And in trouble with your uncle.”

“You won’t be in trouble?” Souji asks.

Self-deprecating laughter leaks out of Yosuke. He can already _imagine_ the tsunami awaiting him at home. “Oh, I definitely will. My parents are gonna be pissed.”

A glum quiet settles over them again. Yosuke has the uneasy feeling that Souji’s mad at him, and why wouldn’t he be? Yosuke’s dragging him all around town, into TVs, and into jail cells all because he’s on a personal mission to find his purpose. And something real to do in this town. That’s not Souji’s battle—hell, the guy _has_ no battles. His Persona just came to him, and Yosuke had to fight for his.

He sure is special, that’s for sure. Yosuke’s stomach flips unpleasantly.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this,” Yosuke says, uncertainty threading through his words, “but I don’t know how to… act around you anymore. I mean, you saw so many embarrassing sides of me that no one else ever has.”

“Your Shadow?”

“I meant, ah—the other thing. But both is true.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Souji says.

“I know, and I don’t, but—” _I can’t stop thinking about it, god dammit_. “I just feel weird around you. If I had known you’d move _here_ of all places this spring, I never would’ve—” He stops, cringing. “Aw hell, I feel like I’m not saying any of this right.”

“If you don’t want to do this,” Souji starts, but Yosuke cuts him off.

“No! I want to. I want to figure out what happened to Saki-senpai.”

“Right.”

“And I—I want you to be there for the ride too. I mean, there’s no way in hell I could do it alone.” He smiles, tentatively holding out a hand. “So… partners?”

Souji takes his hand and nods, which would be great if it didn’t instantly remind Yosuke of the last time they were like this, shaking hands, except then it was at an icy train station and they had just finished having experimental sex. The memory must flash over his face, because Souji’s expression changes, grows heavier.

“Yosuke,” he begins to say, and puts a hand on Yosuke’s knee.

Yosuke freezes. Souji’s eyes are _intense_ when you look directly at them, storming up a whirl of feelings Yosuke doesn’t want to address. He’s about to tell Yosuke that he doesn’t want to deal with this, deal with _him_ , Yosuke can feel it, but then Souji’s leaning in ever so slightly, and oh shit, is he—

“All right, get up, you two,” says Detective Dojima, arms crossed over his chest. He sighs as he stands in from of them. “You didn’t seem the type to pull a stunt like this.”

\--

**2/19/2011**

So Yosuke gets on the train. He almost talks himself out of it, especially when he’s in the middle of convincing his parents to let him take the day off from restocking Junes shelves. He tells them he’s meeting up with some old friends from the city, and they’re polite enough to not point out that Yosuke doesn’t really have any old friends from the city, although his father does give him an odd look that Yosuke is terrified is going to turn into another talk about teenage boy desires, but thankfully, the talk doesn’t come, even after Yosuke takes a suspiciously long shower before leaving.

On the train, he slips his headphones on and refuses to think about anything other than the lyrics and the pulsing rhythm and literally _anything else_ than the fact that he might see another guy naked _on purpose_ in a few hours. He concentrates on the blurry landscape, how it slowly transitions from quiet nature to grimy outskirts to bustling city life, the longing it brings back in Yosuke to still be living somewhere like this. It’s not like he had more friends or even more to do, but it felt like he did. Big cities always leave the impression that you’re part of something larger, rather than just a blip on an otherwise unnoticeable rice field. 

Inaba is _full_ of unnoticeable rice fields.

The pushing and shoving as the train pulls into the station is all too familiar to Yosuke. For all the pluses of living in a hub, big city people sure have no manners. Yosuke hustles to hurry off the train before he loses his nerve, slipping his headphones on while he walks to the cafe. He tries to play music that’ll distract him, something loud and catchy, but his shuffle has other ideas and keeps playing slow indie songs about falling in and out of love.

He sits in the coffeehouse for what feels like _eternities_. His hands start sweating, then he chews his fingernails down to the quick, then he has a brief panic attack in the bathroom, and right when he’s going over the train schedule in his mind and considering turning back now, his waiting comes to an end.

“Hi.”

Yosuke jerks up. There’s the guy, _City Boy_ , and fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on Yosuke’s ability to keep his dick in family friendly bounds—he’s even better looking in person. Yosuke takes one look at his well-cut jaw and gentle smile and his hands immediately starts sweating again. He stuffs them into his pockets.

“Hi,” he says.

“You look nervous,” City Boys says.

“‘Course I’m not,” Yosuke says as sweat gathers along his hairline. Goddammit, he showered this morning for a _reason_. “Um.” For a brief, world-tilting second, Yosuke forgets his own name. “I’m Yosuke.”

“Right. I remember.” His voice is disturbingly deeper than Yosuke expected, the kind of voice that could just read a telephone book and still make it sound nice. “I’m Souji.”

“Souji. Okay.” Yosuke jerks his thumb to the cashier. “You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

They shuffle into the line, studying the blackboard menu up on the wall while they wait. Yosuke takes the opportunity to sneak glances at Souji, just little looks that let him drink in the finer details his photograph didn’t manage to capture. Like that his eyes are gray, but not cold.

“Caramel in coffee is really good,” Souji suggests.

“Thanks, but.” Yosuke scratches the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m trying enough new things for now.”

Souji’s mouth twitches in something that could’ve almost been misconstrued as a smirk. “Ah.”

They place their orders with the barista, who looks at them like they’re just two ordinary dudes hanging out. Which Yosuke supposes they are—for now, anyway. He orders a decaf coffee after debating on the consequences of hyping himself up with caffeine before things (possibly) get freaky, and the two of them take seats near the windows with their steaming cups. The entire set-up feels so eerily like a date that Yosuke has to squash the urge to announce as loudly as possible that they aren’t—no, really, they _aren’t_ —on a date.

On the bright side, no one seems to be paying any attention. Yosuke forgot that one of the advantages (or disadvantages) of living in a big city is that there’s too many people for just one or two to ever stick out.

Yosuke’s coffee is still too hot for him to drink when he brings it to his lips. Shit, he’s nervous. He keeps sneaking glances at Souji and wondering if it’s okay for him to stare like this. The guy really is even better looking in person, really working that strong, silent and stoic thing.

“So, uh. You ever done anything like this before?”

“Meet up with a guy on the internet for a hook-up?” Souji says. He smiles around the rim of his coffee cup. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“Me neither.”

“I know.”

Yosuke sits up a little straighter. “What? How?” How much desperation is he leaking, and is it always this obvious?

“Your ad sort of made it clear,” Souji says.

“Oh. Yeah.” He takes a deep breath in. “I’m sort of checking if… this sort of thing is for me.”

_If this sort of thing is for me._ He’s an idiot. It’s not like this is crocheting or table tennis, it’s _sex with a dude_. Souji doesn’t seem too turned off by his perpetually bad word choice, however.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he says, and Yosuke is pretty sure he’s joking, but it still makes him hot around the ears.

Underneath the table, Souji’s ankle hooks over Yosuke’s. It’s subtle, barely a touch at all, but Yosuke still freezes, reminded again of why he’s here and just how nervous he is. Souji starts talking about school, something about how he’s supposed to move in the spring, something about his uncle, but all Yosuke hears is static noise and his own jackrabbit heartbeat. It’s borderline embarrassing how attracted he is to this guy. A part of him really, really wanted this to disprove every single errant thought he’d ever had about dudes, that he’d come here and come back with a newfound sense of manhood and purpose and appreciation for boobs, and now that plan has cannonballed so far out the window it’s gone for good.

Then, in a twist of fate Yosuke could not have prepared himself for, he blurts out, “Do you want to get out of here?” and Souji stops talking, eyes widening.

The shock is only noticeable for a second, and then he’s schooling his expression back into neutrality. The ankle that’s touching Yosuke’s under the table readjusts, hooking in a little tighter. “My parents are out tonight,” he says. “We could go to my place.”

“Yes,” Yosuke says, humiliatingly fast. “I mean, yes, sure.”

_He gets it, you dork,_ Yosuke thinks, chastising himself. He has no idea how these two emotions can coexist within him, how he can be both paralyzed with terror and thrumming with excitement. When was the last time something made him so anxious?

Souji rises to his feet. “C’mon,” he says.

Yosuke follows.

\--

**4/23/2011**

“Hey, Yosuke. Can I ask you something?”

No, no, he’d really prefer if Chie didn’t ask him something. Especially not now, in the middle of class, which is typically time he reserves for napping.

“Think you just did.”

She ignores him. She leans forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Are you and Souji… cool?”

“Huh? Yes. What? Why wouldn’t we be?” he replies instantly. He might be a bit grumblier then Chie deserves, but he keeps… having _dreams_ , disturbing dreams, dreams of pale, familiar skin stretched out beneath him. It’s starting to cut into his sleep. Every time the memories ambush him—which is basically every time he drops his guard—he shaves another half an hour away from his time spent soundly sleeping. 

It’s starting to get to him. Among other things.

“You just seem a little… I dunno.” Chie shrugs. “A little distant, maybe. Did he say something bad? Was it his Shadow?”

“Dude doesn’t have a Shadow,” Yosuke reminds her. The guy’s an open book, which is more than Yosuke can say for himself. “And we’re not… fighting, or whatever you think is going on.”

“You sure?” she presses.

“ _Yes_.” He’s done with this conversation, or, at least, he wants to be before he lets something damning slip. He already gets the sense that Chie knows more than she should—there are times when this look passes over her face, like a certain amount of recognition has just caught up to her, and it takes everything Yosuke’s got not to panic when he sees it. “What does it matter to you anyway?

“Sheesh! I just want us to all get along. Is that so strange?”

“We get along! It’s fine! Not everything is a goddamn conspiracy theory!”

He shoves his head between his elbows on his desk to discourage Chie from asking any more questions, then pretends to be napping until the bell rings, at which point he hightails it for the safety of the bathroom, where he is safe from Chie, but unfortunately not the rest of the day. He doesn’t know what her big deal is. Yosuke is _just fine_ with being Souji’s friend. Really. Couldn’t have worked out better. And saving Yukiko is a good distraction from everything else going on in Yosuke’s life right now. This is something he’s good at, at least enough to make something of a difference, and it’s nice to have something to do after school that isn’t just restocking shelves at Junes.

Also, he’s pretty sure he has that whole gay thing under control. By which he means, he is definitely not gay and all those feelings have been cleared up like a weird rash and he and Souji are free to just be good pals now. Which is great, because Souji is a really neat guy. And a determined leader. And a mindful partner. And the way he holds that golf club—

No, no. Yosuke isn’t letting his mind go there. His mind is a on a fucking leash as far as he’s concerned.

His day gets exponentially worse when he meets up with Souji for lunch later, who takes one look at him before his eyes widen none too inconspicuously.

“What?” Yosuke asks, hands flying up to his hair. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he forgot to comb it this morning, and he’s not counting on Chie being nice enough to have told him to go fix it.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Souji says.

“Huh?” A hot bolt of panic cuts through Yosuke. He looks down, feeling his shirt. Never has not thinking turned out worse, because yup, that’s a familiar gray t-shirt, and now he’s kicking himself for not throwing this thing out the last few months. He shouldn’t have kept it. And he definitely shouldn’t have thrown it thoughtlessly over his head this morning because he was too sleepy to bother coordinating a proper outfit.

Yosuke realizes, much too belatedly, that this is making him look crazy gay.

“You kept it?” Souji asks.

“Uh.” Yosuke has about three seconds to explain why, except he has no fathomable explanation. “Yeah. By accident. Just… haven’t gotten around to throwing it out.”

Which is why he’s wearing it, inexplicably. God, does he look dumb right now. Why _did_ he keep it? Why didn’t he toss it in the garbage the second he made it home and showered and washed the residue of his hook-up off?

“You look good in it,” Souji says. He sounds completely serious.

“Uh. What?”

“It fits you,” he says. He reaches into his bag and starts unpacking lunch, like he isn’t at all fazed by the words coming out of his own mouth. “Up for broiled fish?”

“Uh,” Yosuke says again. He’s suddenly hot all over. He looks down at the shirt, how it fits around his chest. What the hell did that mean just now? “Sure.”

Souji hands him half of his lunch. He doesn’t mention the shirt again, or anything else Yosuke is wearing for that matter, which Yosuke will take as a blessing since it spares him from bursting into a ball of embarrassed fire.

That night when he gets home, he doesn’t throw the shirt away. It feels wasteful, pointless, especially when Yosuke has been having to darn more and more of his clothes since their TV adventures. He won’t wear this one in public anymore, but maybe just at home, when he needs something comfy. Like to sleep in or something.

“It’s not like you can ever have too many shirts,” Yosuke mutters to himself as he stuffs it under his bed. “I _need_ shirts,” he justifies as he briefly pulls it back out to give it a quick sniff. There’s still a faint remainder of a laundry detergent that isn’t his own, a scent that he often catches whiffs of during class when Souji shifts in the seat in front of him.

It’s not weird, he thinks firmly.

“It’s not,” he says, and wears it to bed that night.

\--

**2/19/2011**

They take the train back to Souji’s place. The city is so alive, so loud, that no one spares them a glance, let alone interrogates them about what they’re doing and where they’re going, and is that a _hard-on_ in Yosuke’s pants? It resides, thankfully, by the time they’re crammed into the sweat of public transportation, the crowd making Yosuke’s winter jacket way too hot around his neck. Souji’s pressed pretty close to him the whole ride but seems to be making a conscious effort not to touch him—not yet, anyway—and Yosuke is caught between relief and disappointment. What the fuck is going on with his emotions lately? He can’t seem to settle on just one feeling at a time anymore.

The cool air when they step out of the busy train is a godsend on Yosuke’s overheated flesh. Was February always this hot, or is he just burning up from the inside out with his anxiety acting as kindling?

Souji’s house is a short walk from the station. Yosuke spends the time mentally chastising himself for not a) packing mints or mouthwash, b) not using the internet as sex education more thoroughly before this visit, and c) going through with this at all. Souji, for his part, doesn’t falter in his step even once. Although he does keep shooting Yosuke careful glances, like he’s torn between being amused by Yosuke’s hesitance and concerned that he’s going to run off any second.

“You know,” Souji says after they toe off their shoes at the door. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Now the lack of so much as touching shoulders on the train makes sense; Yosuke had—ridiculously—assumed that Souji was operating under the same apprehension of being seen within breathing distance of a boy in public, but apparently that apprehension had less to do with everyone else and more to do with Yosuke.

He manages a weak smile. “Do I really look that nervous?”

“Just thought I’d put that out there.”

“Well, thanks, but.” Yosuke takes a step forward, and it might’ve well have been a step off a cliff. “I want to try.”

God, he’s hoping this is just awful. He hopes that it’ll be so awkward that he’ll race back home and dream unendingly of girls, _forever_ , and he’ll never have to think of this encounter ever again, but then Souji steps closer too, purpose in his step, and leans in and kisses Yosuke, and that entire plan seems to wither and die. Oh, fuck.

\--

**5/1/2011**

Souji and Yosuke make plans to hang out the weekend after they save Yukiko. Yosuke comes to Souji’s house, and after a few minutes poking around in the fridge, they adjourn to Souji’s room to fire up some video games.

It’s strange, being in here. So many of the things strewn about, Yosuke’s seen before, just in a different city, in a different room, at a different time. Seeing them here now makes Yosuke feel bizarrely like nothing’s really changed since that day. It has, though— _everything’s_ changed. It also makes him wonder why the universe has seen fit to plough Yosuke with so many life-altering experiences lately.

They play games in silence, side by side on the floor, eyes glued to the TV. Souji’s much worse at virtual battle than he is actual battle, which makes Yosuke feel like for once, he has the upper ground, one he gobbles up with glee as he slaughters Souji’s character _hard_. Souji, for his part, takes it all in stride.

He’s infuriatingly easy to hang out with. It makes Yosuke unreasonably jealous of all the people spending time with Souji when he isn’t, which is the kind of sensation that Yosuke feels like his brain isn’t old enough to know how to deal with yet. _Everyone_ gets along with Souji.

He makes the mistake of thinking about how Souji helped Yukiko out of the TV with Chie, both of them supporting her as they left the castle, leaving Yosuke to feel like the third wheel caboose trailing after them. It had been hard not to watch how Yukiko had leaned against Souji’s shoulder, how his strong arms had kept her afloat, something curling around Yosuke’s chest like a lasso all the while. He’s thinking about it now again, and too long this time, as Souji takes his opportunity to blast the head off of Yosuke’s character.

“Hey!” Yosuke says. “I was in the middle of something!”

Souji gives him a rascally shrug and leaves it at that, revving Yosuke up to kick his ass during the next round. He’s always inspiring Yosuke to do better, work harder, step up more, usually out of a blend of envy for Souji’s effortless skills and an overbright desire to impress Souji.

He knows he’s not the only one who feels that way. Souji’s easy to talk to, and easy to hang out with, and despite the fact that Yosuke is a bumbling loser who sometimes feels like a badly made pillowcase stuffed full of awkward moments, Souji seems to like hanging out with Yosuke too. Even after all that stuff that Yosuke Will Not Name, their friendship still feels organic, not like all the buddies Yosuke had in the city which were more tedious relationships than anything else, but rather like a plant you don’t have to work very hard to keep alive, because it just does its thing without prompting. Like a cactus. They’re cacti.

Is that the kind of thought Yosuke should be having? Yosuke puts his controller down, placing the ass kicking on the back burner for a second.

“Um. Can I ask you something?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Um,” Yosuke says again, fumbling to remember why this was a good idea. “Are you interested in any of the girls from school? Like Chie or Yukiko?”

Yosuke is frighteningly aware of his own facial expressions as he turns to Souji, apprehensively awaiting the answer. Finally, after an eternity of staring silently at Yosuke as if he’s daydreaming about blowing his head off exactly like his video game avatar, Souji chuckles, the sound poorly repressed and pushing against his grin.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“Oh.” Yosuke fidgets with the controller, fiddling with a random button. “You sure? Cause Yukiko seems—well, I bet she wouldn’t mind.”

“Me being interested in her?”

“Yeah.” Yosuke chuckles, the sound pitiful. “She flat out rejected me last year, but I bet you’d have a shot.”

“Hm.” Souji seems to be considering it. Maybe he’s thinking about Yukiko and how he’d look standing next to her. Glumly, Yosuke knows they’d look good together. Attractive people flock together as part of evolution or something. “Would you want that?”

“Want what? You to date Yukiko?” _No_ , Yosuke’s brain howls, but he has no actual reason why. And it’s not like he has any right to go around telling Souji to stay single, it’s just—he and Souji get along really well, and he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of that. Also, it might be that the idea of Souji having a girlfriend is starting to angrily balloon up in Yosuke’s brain. “Hey, no water off my back.”

“Hm,” Souji says again. He’s looking intently at Yosuke, and just when Yosuke is starting to get a little squirmy under the examination, Souji says, “That reminds me.”

He gets to his feet and rummages around in his closet, pulling out an orange shirt. An astonishingly familiar orange shirt.

“My t-shirt!” Yosuke says, then pales as the implications settle. “You—you kept this?”

Souji shrugs. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to come back for it.”

God, it’s weird when they kind of, sort of, almost acknowledge The Thing that happened a few months ago. It fogs up the air between them with awkward tension that leaves Yosuke scrambling to think of something to say, wondering if he even wants to take that shirt back, and also sweating profusely.

“You didn’t wear it, did you?” Yosuke asks.

“Not my color,” Souji says, holding it out for Yosuke to take. “I just washed it.”

He washed it. Souji washed the come off of the shirt from a stranger who spent one naked, misguided evening with him, and then kept that shirt in his closet just in case. Not that Yosuke can really judge. He kept Souji’s shirt too. Hell, he even _wore it to school._ He’s also been sleeping in it some nights, but—dammit, he _needs_ shirts! He can’t be blamed for being resourceful!

The need to make a joke out of the situation pushes at him like his seams are getting too tight. “Ha,” he laughs, going for genuinely amused. “That’s kinda gay, dude.”

Maybe not the smartest thing to say. Souji’s giving him a strange look, the same look he’s been occasionally aiming at Yosuke for weeks, and _still_ , Yosuke can’t decipher it. Suddenly the video game feels like the last thing on Yosuke’s mind, because alarm bells have started going off in his head that he’s just triggered a conversation he really doesn’t want to have, like he’s walked into a trip-wire of uncomfortable confrontations.

“Uh,” Yosuke says, fumbling to stand up. He grabs the shirt. It smells like Souji, like his laundry, like his whole room. “I just remembered. I, uh. My dad needs me at work today.” He needs to get better at lying.

“Yosuke,” Souji says.

“This was cool,” Yosuke says, balling the shirt up in his hand. “See you at school, partner!”

He’s out the door before Dojima can even grill him on the way out. He doesn’t even really feel like he can breathe until he’s home, at which point he throws that awful, wrinkled t-shirt away.

Half an hour later, he fishes it out of the trash can.

\--

**2/19/2011**

_Woah_.

The kissing is good. Way better than a guy’s tongue in his mouth ever should feel, and—wait a minute, how did that get there? Cool fingers find the back of his neck, holding Yosuke close, as if Yosuke had any intention of being elsewhere. Then again, he _is_ shaking with nerves, so maybe he does come across like a flight risk.

“This okay?” Souji murmurs against Yosuke’s lips.

Yosuke can only nod. “Yeah. Totally okay. Better than.” He’s one rambled word away from begging for more, which he’s pretty certain would strip him of all his remaining dignity, so he busies his mouth with more kissing, effectively shutting himself up.

Souji doesn’t seem to mind. He makes a noise, something soft and approving, and then his hands are wandering down to Yosuke’s waist, leaving Yosuke to inanely wonder where to put his own. Where are guys supposed to hold guys? Is it too much to grab someone’s ass? Is it awkward to wrap them around someone’s back?

His body makes up its mind before Yosuke’s brain can, which is probably a good thing, because if it overworks itself any harder, he’s pretty sure smoke will start coming out of his ears and all operations will shut down. His hands find Souji’s hips, the sharp bones there and the whipcord muscles of his lower back, while Souji—who is ten steps ahead—starts nudging Yosuke’s shirt up with his left hand.

And Yosuke is here for _sex_ , he knows that, but he still gasps when Souji’s hand runs over Yosuke’s abdomen, brushing against his rib cage and pulling embarrassing mewling sounds out of Yosuke’s throat. How many hands does Souji even _have_? Yosuke can feel one under his shirt, one on his waist, and what feels like countless others on his neck and arms and back and ass and—oh god, why didn't they ever discuss how far they wanted to go?

“Couch?” Souji volunteers, gently tugging on Yosuke’s sleeves.

“What? Yes. Yeah. Unless your parents—”

“They’re out of town,” Souji reminds him. “It’s just us.”

The couch is, for some reason, a lot less threatening than a bed. Souji tugs him forward and in an incredibly graceless display of elegance, Yosuke topples over the armrest and ends up flat on his back, surrounded by cushions. It’s a nice couch. Yosuke is also vaguely aware of the fact that he’s about to have sex on top of it.

But before there can be sex, there’s more kissing, because a second later Souji is pressed on top of him and their mouths are finding each other again, like magnets. It all moves so well and so fast and so smoothly that Yosuke doesn’t even have the chance to worry about if he’s any good at kissing, Souji taking the lead and aligning their mouths, angling their tongues together until it feels just right.

He’s so lost in the sensations that it takes him a moment to realize that Souji’s traveled southward, his teeth biting down on Yosuke’s jaw, his mouth sucking a spot into Yosuke’s neck, and—

“Woah!” Yosuke says, coming to his senses, and grabs Souji’s shoulders. “Ah—no marks, dude. Can’t have my parents asking questions.”

“Right,” Souji says. He smooths his thumb over the spot he was just licking, as if to erase the redness left behind. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. It’s hot.” The admission is out of Yosuke’s mouth before he can help himself. He can see the effect his words have on Souji’s face, the flicker of uncontained arousal, and Yosuke feels pink heat set up camp on his cheeks. Nothing about this situation isn’t inherently embarrassing, although Yosuke supposes that kind of comes with the territory. Especially when Souji’s knee nudges Yosuke’s legs apart and suddenly there’s a very warm pressure right against Yosuke’s hard-on.

“Too fast?” Souji asks.

How is this guy already so good at reading all of Yosuke’s social cues? Yosuke shakes his head, and to prove it, wraps an arm around Souji’s neck and drags him back into another kiss.

Does this make him gay? How gay does this make him, exactly? He’s cut off from trying to figure it out—or devolve into panic—when Souji unbuttons his pants and suddenly there’s a hand in his underwear wrapped around his erection and _holy shit_ , Yosuke just lost all the words in his vocabulary. He moans, then promptly bites down on his own forearm to keep from doing anything like that again.

“It’s okay,” Souji says. He sounds almost amused. “No one’s going to hear you.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Yosuke admits. He knows what’s coming—if you’re too embarrassed to do it, you shouldn’t be doing it at all, and as valid as that is, he’s just so overwhelmed with his body’s own reactions that he can’t help it. He’s never felt this many things at once before, so he’s going to try his best to cut himself some slack. Up until now, it was just him and his hand and a steamy post-shower bathroom, and now _someone else_ is here, and that someone else is unfairly good at what he’s doing.

“It’s hot,” Souji corrects, grinning, and there goes Yosuke’s face again, heating up like he’s just microwaved his head.

With his free hand, Souji manages to wrangle his t-shirt over his head, and Yosuke hurries to follow suit with his own as well, but he only gets as far as rucking his shirt as high as his armpits before he gets hopelessly distracted. Souji looks just like a regular teenager, not some Greek God out of a magazine spread, but seeing his naked chest still makes sparks of want light up in Yosuke’s stomach, urging him to touch. He runs shaking fingers down Souji’s front, very much aware of the lack of boobs, and more importantly, how little he’s disappointed about that. Souji leans in and closes his mouth around Yosuke’s nipple, and as much as Yosuke thought that was a girl thing, _damn_ , it feels good.

“M-more,” Yosuke whines, unable to help it. Souji’s tongue is a hot, wet heat that’s laying worship to Yosuke’s chest, turning his insides into an electrical storm, throwing off sparks with every touch.

“What do you want me to do?” Souji asks, lifting his head to meet Yosuke’s eyes. His mouth is a bit swollen, redder than it was before, and Yosuke can’t look him straight in the eye, not anymore.

“Don’t make me say it,” he says to the coffee table. “I—I can’t—”

“How about this?” Souji suggests, and next thing Yosuke knows, his pants are sliding down his legs and Souji’s mouth is enclosed around Yosuke’s cock.

Yosuke cries out before he can even think about muffling the sound in his knuckles. No amount of daydreaming or imagining about blowjobs is as good as the real thing, which is so damn staggering that Yosuke can’t even help the ragged, desperate push and roll of his hips. 

In between the otherworldly experience of a tongue licking down his dick and a mouth suckling on the head of it, Souji’s hand curls around Yosuke’s inner thigh, thumb stroking the trembling skin. Yosuke is nearly in too much of a haze to notice what’s going on until a dry finger rubs gently near his hole, not probing, just pressing. Still, Yosuke jumps a little, his dick hitting the roof of Souji’s mouth.

“You don’t want—not today, right?” Souji asks. If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. 

Yosuke props himself up on his elbows, licking his lips at the sight Souji makes between his legs. “Uh. Yeah. Maybe for now.” He’s not ready for _that_ , didn’t even really think it would be on the menu at all until Souji brought it up. Instead he reaches toward like he’s wanted to do all night and tangles a hand into Souji’s smooth hair, canting his hips up and hoping he sends a message.

It gets received. Souji doesn’t hesitate to take him back into his mouth, taking the opportunity to change up techniques, like he’s trying to figure out which method will make Yosuke groan the loudest. He’s not an expert, which Yosuke actually takes more comfort in than otherwise, but he’s a fast learner, reading off of the tension of Yosuke’s hips to determine when he likes something.

It doesn’t take long for Yosuke to struggle to stay in control. He feels like his erection has him at gunpoint, daring him to hold back, which Yosuke’s hyper-sensitive teenage body is having serious trouble with. He’s wordlessly begging himself to _last longer, dammit_ , because this is just absurd, but Souji’s got his thumbs rubbing circles over Yosuke’s hipbones and his tongue is flattening on the underside of Yosuke’s cock and it’s looking like absurdity is the only option.

“A-ah,” he says in an unsuccessful attempt to speak. “Souji,” he tries again, hips stuttering. “M-maybe—oh, _shit_.”

He’s trying to vocalize that he’s about to come, that Souji should probably dive for cover, but it’s like his fried brain cannot physically get words to make sense. Souji makes a noise around him, a gentle sound of encouragement, and if that means what Yosuke thinks it does—

Too late to make sure, because a second later, Yosuke’s letting out a strangled cry and coming into Souji’s mouth, who, astonishingly enough, doesn’t jerk back like Yosuke’s dick is a bomb that’s just exploded. He swallows in stride instead, which is so unexpectedly hot that Yosuke wants to do this again and again and again, which is the kind of post-experiment thought he’ll agonize over later, but not now. Now, he’s being held hostage by his own orgasm.

It takes a bit for the tide of Yosuke’s high to fade. It feels a little bit like he’s underwater, his orgasm much more intense when it isn’t his own hand at the wheel, and he doesn’t quite come back to earth until he notices something hard is pushing into his leg.

His eyes fly open. When did he close them? Souji’s there, carefully smiling, as he props himself up over Yosuke.

“And?” he asks.

“Wow. If I thought you were good with your hands, your mouth is a whole different ball game,” Yosuke says. He’s pretty sure it’s post-orgasm carelessness that’s letting him say all this so casually, but Yosuke’s too blissed out to be ashamed. A few hours down the line might be a different story. “Um. Are you—I mean, do you want me to…”

He trails off. His lack of shame isn’t completely endless. Souji looks down, as if acknowledging his own erection, and then back up to Yosuke.

Cautiously, he says, “Not if you don’t want to.”

He’s offering Yosuke an out, probably because Yosuke’s been acting like a skittish deer in a hunter’s campsite this entire evening. As much as he appreciates the selflessness, Yosuke _does_ want to. It’s almost ridiculous just how much he does, and worrying, and sort of what Yosuke was afraid of when he decided to put that post up. He’s never touched a dick that wasn’t his own before and he has no clue if he’s any good at it, but dammit, no time like the present.

He unbuckles Souji’s belt, ignoring the rushing of his own heartbeat in his ears. If he completely fucks up or does it wrong or somehow forgets how to do this, Souji’ll let him know, which is oddly comforting. The guy’s easy to be around, to trust.

He’s also easy to turn on, apparently, because the second Yosuke snakes a hand into his pants and starts fumbling with what he finds, Souji lets out a low moan and ducks his nose into Yosuke’s shoulder, hot mouth parted on his collarbone. It’s the sort of feeling that makes Yosuke wish he hadn’t created a No Hickeys Allowed Policy, but it’s probably best his attention isn’t skewered all over the place right now anyway. There’s a dick in his hand, and that really takes priority right now.

“Uh, this okay?” Yosuke whispers into Souji’s ear when Souji’s breathing turns ragged.

He takes in long enough of a breath to say, “More than. _Yosuke_.”

Fuck, the sound of his name being groaned has no business being this attractive. Is he going to get turned on during every roll call now, all because he’ll immediately be reminded of this moment, this breathy incantation of his name? Yosuke lets the encouragements egg him on, hand moving slightly faster, gripping a little tighter. Some precome is slicking the way now, making it all that much smoother, and hey, maybe Yosuke isn’t all that bad at this.

Souji’s entire body stops and shudders when he comes, and he throws a massive wrench into Yosuke’s cognitive abilities by moaning his name again, the sound a reedy whine of need. Yosuke can’t hold back; he grabs Souji’s jaw and kisses him, entranced by the sensation, by feeling the aftershocks vibrate through Souji’s thighs as he trembles, the breathlessness in his mouth as he kisses Yosuke back.

The kissing gradually slows down after that, turning into something softer as Souji guides a gentler pace into it. Yosuke follows his lead easily, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal as Souji cups the back of his neck, stroking the sweat-damp hair there.

“Can you stay the night?” Souji asks, mouth brushing Yosuke’s as he talks. The hand lazily stroking Yosuke’s shoulder makes him wish he had a better answer to give, since as of right now, his parents expect him home before midnight. He also has an inkling of dwelling dread that things’ll look a little different tomorrow morning, when all that tingling residue from his orgasm has faded and Souji’s parents are back downstairs wondering who the fuck that stranger in the house is.

Yosuke colors. Better not test it.

“Sorry, man,” he says, stuck between regret and relief. “Curfew. My dad’s gonna ply me with shifts if I don’t come back before then.”

“Okay,” Souji says. He plucks at Yosuke’s shirt. “Might have to do something about this, though.”

“Huh?” Yosuke looks down and groans when he notices the splatter of Souji’s come on his t-shirt. Not exactly the image of discretion Yosuke had been hoping for. “Oh, _shit_.”

“It’s okay. You can borrow one of my mine.”

“Isn’t that kind of—never mind.” Yosuke cuts himself off. If he can touch another guy’s dick, he’s not going to burst into flames wearing his shirt.

\--

**6/17/2011**

Sometimes Yosuke sees so much of himself in Kanji that it scares the _crap_ out of him. Not the raging, delinquent gang member part. Rather the terrified of the inner workings of his own orientation part. Yosuke’s more and more grateful that his own Shadow never spewed any of this stuff about being accepted for who he is and when will he just admit to thinking about Souji naked when he’s in the shower already?

He grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to accept it. He doesn’t even want to acknowledge that side of himself exists, and has since February. Every day since then, he’s gotten closer and closer to that goal of forgetting. Somewhat. Minus a few detours.

Like today. He knew he shouldn’t have come to this damn camp out.

Yosuke looks to his left where Souji’s stretched out on the ground. It’s definitely hard to never acknowledge something when that very thing followed him to Inaba and became his best friend and is always there, shining in all his handsome, empathetic glory.

How has Kanji dealt with all that stuff since facing his Shadow? Is he just fine? Is he that much mentally stronger than Yosuke? No freaking way.

He gets his answer when he ends up inadvertently chasing Kanji out of the tent. Honestly, he should’ve known better than to taunt a guy who looks like he could crush peanuts inside his nostrils. Especially about his still untapped homosexuality. Also, Yosuke might’ve been projecting just a _little_ bit.

The icing on the cake was probably that the entire time he was grilling Kanji about whether or not they’d be safe with him in the tent, Yosuke could feel Souji’s eyes on him, probing holes into his skull.

They haven’t said anything since Yosuke refused to take responsibility for Kanji maybe getting expelled and the girls showed up to ambush them in their tent. Now he’s working with his criminally small patch of room and listening to the nighttime bugs buzzing around the tent and wishing he could get to sleep. But he _can’t_. His mind is whirring like a blender.

He tilts toward Souji. With the lights all off, all Yosuke can see is the dim outline of a boy’s body.

“Hey,” Yosuke whispers. “You awake?”

He knows that he is, but he still feels the need to ask just in case Souji’s in the mood for ignoring him after Yosuke’s homophobic hysterics from earlier. Better yet, Souji should order him to sleep already and turn his back to him.

Instead, Souji turns to him and nods. Yosuke sneaks a peak over his shoulder where the girls are stretched out, breathing even, eyes shut. Deep asleep, hopefully.

“All that stuff with Kanji,” Yosuke begins, keeping his voice low, “do you think it’s true?”

“That he passed out in the girls’ tent?”

“No, I meant more like…” Yosuke swallows. It seems to be the loudest sound in the entire tent. “That he’s… you know.”

Souji doesn’t answer him right away. He seems to carefully considering his answer, but the longer he takes to respond, the more terrified Yosuke becomes. “Would you mind?”

The short answer is totally _yes_ , Yosuke would mind, because every time he’d so much as stand near Kanji, he’d feel like all his clothing had transformed into needles. It would just be _uncomfortable_ , and a constant reminder of what Yosuke is trying, every single day, to shut out.

But what if he says yes, and then Souji brings up… what happened?

“I mean… as long as he keeps it away from me, you know?” Yosuke goes for a laugh, but it comes out hollow. And much too loud in the quiet night. “...what do you think?”

“I don’t mind,” Souji says. He makes it sound like he has more to say, like that’s not quite the end of his opinion, but then he says nothing more, eyes unmoving from the tent’s ceiling.

Yosuke really wishes he would say more, because he can tell that he’s definitely _thinking_ more. Possibly that Yosuke is a horrible hypocrite. Possibly that Yosuke is really overdoing all this and should just calm down.

But he just _can’t_ let it go.

“So you think he is…” Yosuke trails off.

“Maybe. I think we should let him figure it out.”

“Right,” Yosuke says.

He shifts on the ground, the dirt crunching under his spine. That wasn’t… some sort of insinuation, was it? Souji wasn’t secretly talking about Yosuke just now, was he? Yosuke’s going to give himself an ulcer if he keeps mulling over this so damn much.

“You think it’s really that simple?” Yosuke asks. He should really just drop it; he should stop _harping_ on this like an obsessed madman, but he has to ask, he has to know. “That one day he’ll wake up and just… be okay with it?”

“There’s nothing simple about accepting something about yourself you don’t want to,” Souji says.

“Yeah,” Yosuke mumbles. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have Shadows.”

He wonders—are they a one time thing? Is his Shadow gone forever, officially accepted and filed away never to resurface again, like chicken pox? Or could it come back in new, freakier ways?

He has a grim feeling about what it would tell him the second time around.

“I’ll apologize to him in the morning,” Yosuke says, more to himself that anyone else. “He has enough to deal with without me being a dick about his…” He grimaces. “...preferences.”

Souji doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s falling asleep. Or maybe he’s plotting a way to stuff a snake down Yosuke’s shirt when he’s not paying attention. Sometimes the guy is as hard to riddle out as a math equation.

“Well. ‘Night,” he whispers.

“Goodnight,” Souji says.

Yosuke rolls on his side, wishing he was sleepier. Less hungry. That his mind wasn’t whirring around like a spinning top powered by his own never-ending anxiety.

In front of him, Souji rolls over too. Yosuke focuses on the slope of Souji’s shoulder, the rise and fall of his back as he breathes. Yosuke would stock shelves at Junes for the rest of his _life_ if it meant being able to read Souji’s mind for a few minutes. Cause God knows he can’t just _ask_ about what he wants to know.

_Do you ever shut up?_ he asks his brain, none too bitterly. He closes his eyes and tries to shut it the fuck off.

When he wakes up the next morning, he wishes he would’ve kept it on for just a little bit longer. He’s over warm, body heavy and hot, and just on the unpleasant side of sticky. Also, his mouth is open and nearly drooling all over—holy _shit_.

That’s skin under his face. Skin that belongs to a collarbone, which belongs to a chest, which belongs to a familiar face, which is all part of a breaking, living, _thankfully sleeping_ body. Souji’s body. Yosuke is draped all over Souji’s body.

Alarm shoots through Yosuke like a stampede. He has an arm over Souji’s chest, and their legs are pressed frighteningly close, and every time Souji takes a breath, Yosuke can feel the exhale on his face. He hasn’t been this close to another human being since—since—

Yosuke tries not to think about anything other than the fact that Souji’s eyes are still closed and that Yukiko and Chie are still sleeping from the look of it, which is the lucky break of Yosuke’s life. He stares for one heart-stopping moment, cataloguing the way his body is more than interested in the situation, in the way Souji is all stretched out and pliant underneath him. He smells good.

Shit. Yosuke disentangles away frantically, hoping, _praying_ that none of this ever happened when he was sleeping over at Souji’s house and Souji had just been too polite to tell him.

He feels a bit like every spot of his body that had contact with Souji’s is on fire. This doesn’t _mean_ anything, though. He can’t control what happens when he’s sleeping. And he’s never going to mention it again.

All these things he has to keep secret and vow to ignore lately are really piling up. Yosuke tries not to think about why that is.

Two minutes later, Souji stirs. He has bedhead, and his shirt has wrinkled, and Yosuke looks away when he feels a heat in his belly at the sight.

“Morning,” Yosuke tells him, already scrambling to sit up and grab his jacket.

“Morning,” Souji says, his voice rougher than normal, still sleepy. “You been up long?”

“Nah,” Yosuke lies. “Just woke up.”

\--

**2/19/2011**

The redressing is probably the most awkward part of it all. Being naked feels completely different once sex is out of the equation, leaving nothing but Yosuke’s flagrant insecurities and his inability to stop comparing himself to others. 

They get off the couch, shake off their limbs, and go upstairs to Souji’s room so Souji can rummage through his closet for something for Yosuke to wear. The shirt Souji offers him is a nondescript gray tee, something Yosuke could pass off as having come from his own closet, and with his jacket thrown on top, it’s virtually impossible to notice that Yosuke isn’t wearing his own shirt. Oh, paranoia, his oldest, bestest friend.

“Thanks,” Yosuke says as Souji hands him the tee. _I just made you come_ , blurts his brain.

He desperately wishes he knew what the etiquette in this situation is. Souji’s next to him, casually buttoning his pants back up, and Yosuke can’t help but stare, but is he _allowed_ to stare? Is he supposed to ask how good this was for Souji? Is it okay if he asks to use the bathroom before he goes?

He decides to leave his jizz-splattered tee behind. It’s not a souvenir he particularly feels he’s going to want to see again, let alone wear again. It’s _fine_ ; he has plenty of other orange shirts. He’s just going to cut his losses.

\--

**6/19/2011**

“And here’s Yosuke, my son. He’d be more than happy to help you find what you’re looking for.”

Not for the first time today, Yosuke has to restrain his moan of despair and paint on his Customer Service Smile as his father shovels an old woman with a walker into his personal space. His father’s nose twitches a bit, which Yosuke takes as his cue to crank up the power on that manufactured smile.

He steps down from the stool he was balancing on to push crackers too high for anyone but basketball players to reach. “Hi,” he says. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for cereal,” the woman says, her voice papery, much like her skin, as she clasps Yosuke’s wrist in her hand. “My grandson says I should be avoiding gluten. Do you have anything without it?”

“Sure we do,” Yosuke says.

“And nothing sugary. I can’t process it all that well anymore.”

“Sure.”

“And with fiber.”

“Sure,” Yosuke says again, although he’s pretty sure this woman should be in the vitamin supplement aisle. “Anything else?”

She has at least three more requirements. Yosuke ends up aggressively suggesting a brand to her that fills about half, which she accepts with adequate levels of glee according to Yosuke’s father, who’s watching the entire exchange a few feet away. All those girls working here for thirty minutes a day are _delusional_ if they think Yosuke gets any special treatment for being the manager’s son, aside from being scrutinized like an auditor pouring over tax refunds. 

Yosuke grits his teeth as she totters off. “Dad, could you _please_ stop handing all the old ladies off to me?”

“Come on, Yosuke! You’re great with them.” His dad claps a hand on his shoulder, all jovial smiles. “And don’t forget to restock the dairy aisle.”

Yosuke groans. The dairy aisle’s the _worst_. It only takes five minutes for Yosuke to freeze into a popsicle, and another five for confused customers to demand help figuring out which yogurt is lactose-free.

His shift would be a lot more bearable with help. The part-timers keep ditching, leaving Yosuke to tend to a massive chunk of the store alone. He had texted Souji this morning, but Souji had told him he already had plans and would help out next time.

Which—fine. Okay. Yosuke knows the guy is popular. He’s not thinking obsessively about who Souji’s hanging out with, and why Yosuke wasn’t invited, and what he’s doing right now.

He ducks into the produce section to avoid another senior citizen with a helpless gleam in her eye. Karma chomps down on his ass a second later, though, because when he turns around, he sees Souji examining asparagus, side by side with Yukiko. Something anvil-like drops in Yosuke’s stomach.

They’re talking while they look for good vegetables. Yukiko’s laughing, and not one of her unstoppable, unattractive laughing fits, either—this is her dainty laugh, her feminine chortle.

Are they on a date? It looks suspiciously like one. Yosuke feels completely frozen, watching this perfectly civil interaction between two of his friends as if it were a trainwreck. It feels like one, and Yosuke isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s awakened a sense of righteousness in Yosuke considering that it wasn’t that long ago when Souji claimed he wasn’t interested in any of the girls at school, and yet here he is flirting up a storm over broccoli florets. Or maybe something else is going on that Yosuke really doesn’t want to put a name to.

He edges closer, near enough that he can listen in on their conversation but far enough that he can still hide behind a shelf of discount juice boxes.

“—you think? Should we get more vegetables?” Yukiko asks.

“I think we have enough. We’ll need spices, though.”

“Spices?”

“I’ll go get them.”

“I really don’t think I can thank you enough for all this!” Yukiko calls after Souji’s retreating form.

Yosuke stares for a few more seconds, crouched around the apple juice, until he realizes that his staring is a bit creepy. He should just man up and approach. Act casual and say hi. See what’s actually going on here. 

Besides, he _works_ here. He’s allowed to be here. He doesn’t need to hide like a convict on the run. Yosuke takes a breath and ducks out from behind the juice pouch display like it’s a perfectly normal place for him to be lurking.

“Hey, Yukiko-san!” he says, feigning surprise as he approaches her as the picture of nonchalance. “Didn’t know you were coming here today.”

“Yosuke-kun!” she says, turning. “You’re working today?”

“Yeah.” He fishes a bit more blatantly than he’s proud of. “Are you here alone?”

“Oh, I came with Souji-kun.”

“Yeah? You two are really getting close, huh?”

Pink colors Yukiko’s cheeks. “It—it’s not like that,” she says. “He’s just helping me with my cooking.”

“After the camp out, I’m not sure there’s much hope for you,” Yosuke says, and it isn’t until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes just how much bite he put into them. Okay, maybe that was a little too callous. “I mean, it’s nice of Souji to teach you.”

It’s not nice, not for Yosuke, anyway. He’s reminded of when they staked out Kanji before he was thrown in the TV, how he had sit through Chie interrogating him about if Souji liked Yukiko or not while he sweated his way through the entire conversation. He had said he didn’t know, that he and Souji didn’t talk about that kind of stuff, all the while panicking about if Chie was figuring out that his nervous babbling translated into him knowing _all_ about that kind of stuff, plus that Souji knew his way around a dick.

Maybe Souji changed his mind. Maybe he _is_ into Yukiko now. Yosuke couldn’t blame him, not when Yukiko is as gorgeous as she is and they seem to get along well and wow, he’s starting to feel like a teapot that’s getting closer and closer to angrily whistling.

“I think so too. He knows a lot about cooking,” Yukiko says.

“Oh, yeah. He shares his lunch with me a lot, so I know.” Why does this feel like some deranged middle school competition of who knows Souji better? What does it even _matter_? Yosuke is dimly aware of the fact that might need to grow up.

“Found what we need,” Souji says, reappearing with spices in hand, and spots Yosuke. “Yosuke. Hey.”

“Oh, hey, partner,” Yosuke says, praying hard that Souji didn’t overhear the bit where Yosuke was bragging about sharing Souji’s homemade lunch with him like he was whipping out bona fides for their friendship. “Just sort of ran into Yukiko. Didn’t realize you’d be here today.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help with work,” Souji says. “I promised Yukiko I would help her cook.”

At least Yosuke has proof in the form of the shopping cart of ingredients that that isn’t some secretive metaphor for—something else. “No big deal,” he says, perhaps a little too nonchalantly. Souji has the infuriating habit of being able to read Yosuke like a book, and he hopes that isn’t happening now. “We all know she needs the help, am I right?”

“Yosuke-kun!” Yukiko says.

“You could come help us, if you want,” Souji offers. “After your shift is done.”

Yosuke makes a noise, one he doesn’t quite want to let out. Come and third wheel their gourmet date? No, thank you. Yosuke would rather go camping in that damn bathhouse.

“Nah,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to, uh. Interrupt.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“That’s okay.” Yosuke gestures at the shelves as if they’re much preferred company. “I still gotta work a few more hours. You guys go ahead.”

Souji lingers for a second, like he can tell that something has settled badly under Yosuke’s skin. Yosuke is caught between wanting him to ask about it and wanting him to _never_ ask about it, or mention it, or acknowledge the mood swing Yosuke is currently held captive by. It’s an ugly color on him. He typically _likes_ Yukiko, even more since he actually got to know her, but right now, all he wants is for her to accidentally trip into a sewer on the way home rather than spend an evening pressed tight against Souji as they share a cutting board while preparing dinner.

He can’t be like this. He can’t entertain _thoughts_ like this.

He goes back to work, and absolutely does not spend the rest of his day thinking about Souji and Yukiko feeding each other forkfuls of hot food by candlelight.

\--

**2/19/2011**

Souji walks Yosuke back to the station after they both clean up. Souji even offers to let Yosuke use the bathroom and freshen up, take a quick shower, but something about going back home smelling of another dude’s soap just feels like crossing an untouchable line.

The stroll back to the train is nothing short of awkward. Souji’s not a huge conversationalist, and Yosuke ran out of things to say after seeing the guy’s orgasm face, and now he’s just left to stew in his own overthinking.

At the train tracks, Souji offers him a parting handshake.

“I had a good time,” Souji says. His private little smile is doing funny gymnastics to Yosuke’s stomach. “Thanks for meeting up, No Strings.”

For one terrifying second, Yosuke worries he’s going to go in for a kiss goodbye, but then Souji’s letting his hand go and taking a step back. Something Yosuke can’t quite place, an emotion he’s not sure he’s ever exactly pinned down before, tickles him.

“Yeah, you too, City Boy,” Yosuke says, winking. Is it okay to wink now that they’ve—done stuff? “Uh, see you.”

Or not. Preferably not, Yosuke tells his iffy stomach. He thought his nerves would be gone by now, but on the contrary, he feels worse than ever as he gets on the train and tries not to look out the window where he sees Souji, hands in his pockets and nose starting to go pink in the cold, still watching. He honestly just doesn’t have a solid plan anymore. The whole idea was to go here, get this over it, and rediscover his rampant heterosexuality in the process. It hadn’t ever really occurred to Yosuke that he might _like_ it.

This is just _horrible_. 

The degree to which he believes this only magnifies as the train chugs back to Inaba. He has no one but this own thoughts to hang out with, and this is _really_ a time when he and his thoughts need well-deserved space. Distantly, he can feel himself working up a sweaty panic as the ride progresses, not sure what the fuck to do now or what to do with this newfound information, or, more importantly, how to _get rid of it_. Yes, it was fun, but Yosuke’s not _gay_ , he can’t be, he won’t, he just isn’t.

He shouldn’t have done this. He should’ve trusted his gut and not gotten on the train. He can’t take this back now, it’s _happened_ , he’s done things with a guy he can _never take back_ , and now Yosuke sort of hates himself a bit. More than he did before.

“You’re home late,” his dad says from the couch when Yosuke makes it home. He peeks up over the book he’s reading, eyebrows furrowed. He looks ready to launch into interrogation mode until he picks up on the fact that Yosuke’s a little green around the gills. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Yosuke says.

A pause. “Did it go okay with your friends?”

“Yeah.”

An even longer pause that makes Yosuke a little itchy. “I’m glad. Next time, don’t stay out so late.”

“Sure.” Monosyllabic responses seem to be all Yosuke can manage. “Can I go to bed now?”

“All right. Goodnight. Don’t forget about your shift tomorrow.”

His shift. At least it’s a dose of normalcy Yosuke desperately needs after his out-of-the-box experience today, even if he _really_ doesn’t want to go to work tomorrow. He kind of just wants to find a hole where he can dwell in all of his bad choices.

Yosuke takes a lot of showers that weekend. A _lot_. He also wolfs down the biggest steak he can find for lunch, tries to teach himself martial arts over the internet, and considers growing a beard. He also spends the afternoon with his small collection of porn magazines, and jerks off while staring at them for the sake of it.

By the time Monday comes around, he’s a little raw down there from all the masturbating and also feeling the repercussions of his decisions like a hammer to the gut. The internet didn’t tell him that sex was going to leave him feeling so… stripped. And as of right now, horribly regretful and worried and confused as to what the fuck to do next. He went looking for an experiment, and he got it, but he never went as far as to consider what to do _after_ his hypothesis was tested. 

What is he supposed to do with that information now?

“Hey Yosuke,” Chie says the morning before class. “Do anything interesting this weekend?”

“No,” comes shooting out of his mouth like a bullet. “No, I… just kinda relaxed.”

“Sounds nice,” Chie says.

He’s not quite sure if she believes him, so he adds in, “I worked a bit too.” He has witnesses as proof for that one, not that he expects Chie to ask for evidence.

“Oh, yeah. Yukiko and I went to Junes on Saturday. You guys looked swamped.”

“That’s the weekend shift for you,” Yosuke lies, chuckling. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance they won’t verify any of this with Yosuke’s father, but the remaining one percent is going to keep him awake tonight. “Always busy.”

Chie peers a little closer. “You okay?” she asks. “You look super tired.”

_Mind your own business!_ Yosuke wants to screech. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t sleep too well last night.”

He briefly thinks about asking Chie out just so he can go on a date with a girl and kiss a girl and hold a girl’s hand and basically everything else he did with Souji that he can now paint over with newer, shinier, more heterosexual markers, but then he remembers all those times he listened to Chie blabber on about Kung-Fu movies all through lunch break and decides not to.

But it’s going to be fine. He’ll find a girl to date and he’ll realize he’s totally boob-oglingly straight and he’ll forget about what happened on that couch in the city and all this will be over.

\--

**6/22/2011**

Having all his friends come visit him at Junes would be a whole lot more fun if Yosuke could actually _join_ them.

“You’re on table cleaning duty,” his father says the minute Yosuke shows up and ties his employee apron on, handing him a wet rag.

“But my friends are here today.”

“Great. But _first_ you have to wipe tables.”

Yosuke keeps his groans of frustration at bay. He’s a monkey, is what he is. An overworked Junes monkey who can’t sit in on investigation team time because he has to wipe spilled condiments off of food court tables.

“Sorry, guys,” he says as he double knots his apron. Everyone already looks like they’re having fun, all huddled together over a table, and then there’s Yosuke playing janitor. “I’ll be there in a sec. Don’t talk about the interesting stuff without me.”

He gets to work, hurrying all the while. It’s nice, being part of a group, and feeling like he actually belongs in it. His life has changed so much since winter, since—well, since Souji showed up.

And all that—other stuff. Yosuke is certain it’ll go away eventually. He has to be. Kanji’s here to stay and Yosuke can’t keep being a porcupine of discomfort around him and Souji—Souji’s somehow become his best friend, best friend he’s ever had, and he can’t ruin this. He has the investigation to focus on, and that matters more than some... lingering uncertainty.

He gets close enough to everyone’s table at one point that he can overhear their discussion while he’s mopping up sticky spots of dried soda. Something about Kanji maybe? 

He edges a bit closer.

“I just don’t know if I’d be any good at it, ‘s all,” Kanji’s grumbling.

“You should practice with Souji. You sort of taught Yosuke, right?”

“Yosuke didn’t need any teaching.”

Yosuke freezes. They’re not… talking about what he thinks they’re talking about, are they? No. Hell no. There’s no way Souji would—

“Oh, come on. You telling me the guy’s a natural?” Chie snorts. “I can imagine how ridiculous he looks practicing at home.”

“Besides, Kanji-kun,” Yukiko adds in, “you have to try it more than just once. It’s really an acquired skill.”

“Well, how many times until I’m good at it?”

“I think it’s different for everyone, really,” Yukiko says.

Are they—they’re not _seriously_ talking about Souji and Yosuke’s thing back in February. How would that have even come up? Who mentioned it? Did they all just _know_? Did they guess? Did they smell it off Yosuke on day one and have been chuckling about it behind his back ever since?

The Junes song starts back over on its loop behind him. Yosuke feels alarmingly like setting fire to something.

“How was Yosuke the first time, Souji?” Chie asks. “Oh man, I wish I had been there to see it.”

“He was fine. Just a little rough around the edges.”

“Kanji, I bet you’d get the hang of it really quickly,” Yukiko adds. “Your build is perfect for it.”

“That’s true. If Yosuke can do it, you definitely can.”

That is _it_. That is fucking it. Yosuke can’t listen to another second of this. He’s not sure what’s worse, that they all know, that Souji thought it would be appropriate to tell everyone, or that everyone’s talking about how Kanji would be _better at him_ than gay sex. He feels like he’s living in some horrible alternate reality, and for god’s sake, why did he have to overhear this? Why did he have to work here _today_? Why did he ever put that goddamn ad on Craigslist?

He abandons his table cleaning duties, too shaky and overrun with tornado-like anger to focus. If they all think this is so amusing, so laughable, something they can all chatter about like it’s the weather or homework or tomorrow’s lunch, except it’s _Yosuke’s awful gay fling_ , he’ll give them something to laugh about. He’s having some trouble breathing as he stomps up to their table, all of them smiling and swinging their legs and having the time of their lives.

“Hey, Yosuke,” says Chie when she notices him, all grins of mockery that Yosuke wants to strangle off of everyone’s face. “We were just talking about you.”

“Yeah. I heard.” He glares at the table as a whole. When they all just blink at him like this doesn’t concern them in the least, Yosuke feels himself bubble over. “I heard what you were talking about, and I can’t believe it.” He wheels on Souji. “ _Yosuke didn’t need any teaching. How was Yosuke’s first time?_ I mean, to tell everyone when you promised to keep it a secret? Why, for a few laughs? To brag?”

“Yosuke,” Souji says, eyes wide, but Yosuke continues.

“That was _private_. And a mistake! It was a mistake, okay? If I could go back and keep from doing it, I never would’ve slept with you. I’m—I’m not gay, okay, and it It just made everything _worse_ , ‘cause now I can never stop _thinking_ about it.”

It isn’t until he’s staring into the saucer-eyed, unblinking faces of his friends that Yosuke realizes he may’ve just said too much. He’s on the verge of taking back his entire tantrum until he remembers why he’s upset in the first place, and that he’s allowed to be upset, and that Souji’s the one responsible for screwing everything up here, _not him_. Souji, who’s looking at Yosuke like he’s grown three more heads.

“ _What?_ ” Yosuke yells, begging someone to challenge him, to distract him from the oddly poignant ringing in his ears.

“Um,” Chie says cautiously. She sounds a bit dazed. “We were just talking about Kanji learning to fight with us.”

“Oh.” Yosuke feels all the anger deflate out of him like a popped balloon. Actually, he feels _every_ emotion save for complete and utter humiliation rush to leave him like people leaping off of a sinking boat. He looks briefly at Souji, then finds he can _never look at him again_. “Oh.”

“Yosuke,” Souji says gently, but whatever he has to say, whatever _any_ of them have to say, Yosuke can’t stomach hearing it. He has to get out of here and find someplace to throw up and then slip into another dimension where he isn’t allowed to talk anymore. Horrible things happen when he lets himself talk.

“I gotta,” he says, then gestures over his shoulder and bolts.

\--

**3/05/2011**

Yosuke doesn’t check his email for a few weeks after that, terrified of any remainders from his misguided Craigslist adventures. As far as he’s concerned, he has to bury that entire experience deep, deep, _deep_ in the damp basement of his mind, to be locked up and never seen again, only ever occasionally heard (and then ignored) through the floorboards.

He figured it out. He’s not gay. He’s straight. That entire evening was fun, but not galaxy-shattering. Not even really earth-shattering. The shatter was no greater than what could potentially crack a poorly made teacup. That’s _all_. Yosuke is now free to return to the world of nude women on the Internet and getting shot down by the girls at school.

Once he’s said that to himself in front of the mirror enough times, he bravely powers up his computer and rifles through his inbox. He deletes any belated replies to his Craigslist post, deletes the post for good measure, and does all of the above with nary an eye twitch.

The last email he has yet to delete is one still from February, a response in an email thread Yosuke has going on with Souji.

Yosuke’s mouth dries up a little before he clicks on it. Is he writing to say he wants his shirt back? Is he writing to complain about Yosuke’s sexual prowess now that he’s had time to think about it?

He should really just delete it, not worry about it, not spend another second on this stuff that’s far, far away in his past. He’s moved on. That was the older, slightly gayer Yosuke. He opens the email.

_Hey Yosuke/No Strings,_  
_I had a nice time the other night. Thanks for stopping by._  
_Maybe we’ll run into each other again some day._  
_Souji/City Boy_

Yosuke reads it over three times without meaning to. He feels a little hollow inside all over afterwards, thinking of those friendly gray eyes, of the hands that touched him. It’s such dangerous territory that Yosuke doesn’t even realize he’s in the quicksand pit until he’s waist-deep and remembering the feeling of Souji’s mouth traveling down Yosuke’s stomach.

No. _No._ That’s restricted territory that Yosuke is pointlessly trespassing on.

He deletes the email. He’s never going to see that guy ever again.

\--

**6/22/2011**

Yosuke doesn’t go back to work. He doesn’t even go back to Junes, just runs and runs until he’s back home and locked in his room, where no one can stare at him in shame and disgust but himself.

It doesn’t take long for the texts and missed calls to come pouring in. First Yosuke assumes that it’s his father chewing him out for abandoning work early, which it partly is, but the majority of the messages are all from Souji trying to get a hold of him. Seeing them crowding his phone is so terrifying that Yosuke has to resist the urge to smash it just in case Souji is peering at him from inside of it.

Also, most of the messages are Souji asking if Yosuke’s okay, which is so frustratingly and unjustly kind that Yosuke wants to scream. He’s been wanting to scream aimlessly a _lot_ lately.

It’s just, Souji has no reason to be this nice. Yosuke shouted their gay date to the entirety of their friend group, right before accusing Souji of being the one to do so. What on earth did they all talk about after he ran off like a scared cat? Yosuke can only assume his sanity was a talking point. Also, despite the fact that he asserted his lack of gayness multiple times, he’s pretty sure him being gay came up too.

Fuck, he’s _not_. He’s not gay. He’s… confused. Scared out of his mind. And also going to have to leave this room eventually.

Something’s vibrating. It’s Yosuke’s phone, the sound muffled on the bed sheets. The screen flashes _Souji_. Yosuke can’t talk to him right now. He can’t talk to anyone, not for at least a few years. He has to wait for them to forget this nightmarish afternoon first.

The vibrating stops soon enough. Yosuke shoves it aside so he can flop onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow. He still hasn’t washed this damn pillowcase.

A pounding on the front door downstairs jolts him. Fuck. Yosuke knows who that is, and suddenly wishes he would’ve taken the damn call. A short, tinny conversation over the phone, quickly ended by a thinly veiled excuse about Yosuke having to take a shower, would’ve been much preferred to looking Souji in the eye.

He can hear the creak in the door hinges downstairs as his mother opens it. And when he presses his ear against the wall, he can make out some of the conversation.

“—Yosuke home?”

“—can check. Hold—”

His mother’s footsteps tread up the stairs, and Yosuke has just enough sense to ease his door open enough to hiss out instructions.

“I’m not here!” he whispers.

Yosuke’s mother isn’t amused by his antics. Loudly, she says, “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“Mom!”

“Fine.” His mother would really make a wonderful CIA agent. Really missed her calling there.

Needless to say, her volume leaves much to be desired in terms of conspicuousness, and a second later, Souji’s taken it upon himself to follow the telltale sounds of Yosuke’s mother blowing Yosuke’s cover. Shit.

Yosuke can barely bring himself to look at Souji. He looks worn out, worried and apologetic, which only makes Yosuke feel worse. It’s his fault. This whole situation is his fault. If he had just kept his dick on a leash last February, none of this would’ve happened, and he and Souji would’ve probably been the best of buds, no awkward silences or simmering feelings to be dealt with.

He’s ruined absolutely everything.

“Can we talk?” Souji asks from the hall.

Yosuke’s mother is staring at him with crossed arms like she’s waiting to see if she taught her son good manners or not. Yosuke has the distinct feeling that if she knew the whole story, she wouldn’t be so crazy about Souji being here.

“Yeah,” Yosuke sighs. “But—not out here. Come on in.”

He opens his door enough to almost be welcoming. Souji nods and comes inside, after which Yosuke can only lock his door and hope his mother isn’t eavesdropping from the hall.

“Are you okay?” Souji asks once the door shuts, in that aggravatingly friendly way of his. Yell at him, dammit. Yosuke knows he deserves it. It’s what anyone else would do. Shout at him for being such a moron who couldn’t keep his own mouth shut but ran around admonishing others for spilling secrets.

“Don’t,” he says, sighing again. “Don’t be so _nice_. I know I messed up.”

“It’s all right.”

No, no, it’s not. Yosuke made a fool of them both, and did it in the loudest, angriest way possible to boot. It’s not even close to all right.

“I’m sorry for doubting you, all right? I heard all that stuff and I just assumed, and I know I shouldn’t have. And now everyone knows.” He rubs a hand over his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Jeez. I don’t think I could’ve screwed this up more if I tried.”

“You didn’t,” Souji says.

Suddenly, there’s a hand wrapping around Yosuke’s wrist, gently squeezing. Yosuke heats up instantly, wishing he wouldn’t, that he could control the way his body reacts to Souji, his impulses like a superhero who hasn’t learned any control over his powers yet. It’s like one wrong look and he’ll shoot murder lasers out of his eyes, or in this case, pop a hard-on.

“Yosuke, it’s okay,” Souji says. “It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“What did everyone say?” he asks miserably.

“They were… just surprised. They don’t _mind_ , though. And I didn’t tell them much.”

So there weren’t jokes being cracked at his expense and Yukiko didn’t fall into a laughing fit a second after he fled? He wants to ask, but he also doesn’t, afraid that Souji really is just giving him a rose-tinted view of what actually happened at that table after he made a break for it. He closes his eyes, grimacing.

He just doesn’t want this to change anything. Not about the team, or how everyone treats him, or about himself.

Maybe it doesn’t have to? says a tiny voice deep in the recesses of his mind. Maybe it actually doesn’t change anything at all?

“Besides, you don’t have to worry. It was a one-time thing. You figured out that you’re straight,” Souji points out. “So it’s no big deal.”

Yosuke takes a deep breath. Souji’s softly smiling, eyes unreadable of any belying emotion. Yosuke… sort of wants to kiss him. He’s wanted to before—it feels like a million times, really—but this is the first time he’s let himself admit it.

“What if… I wasn’t?” he asks, voice small.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat. Tries to grab his courage by the nostrils. “What if I wasn’t straight?”

There comes that look again, the one where Yosuke’s inadvertently grown three heads. Souji opens his mouth, then takes a few more moments to actually form words. “What?”

Yosuke thinks about his Shadow, his repressed self, how it lived and festered inside him like a vicious parasite. He doesn’t want to ever do that again, to lose control of his own emotions, his own thoughts and fears and irrational wants.

Here goes nothing.

“I… wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened,” he says in one breath. “I couldn’t. Can’t.” Another careful inhale. “I think I… have feelings for you.”

Souji’s speechless expression of shock is pretty much the scariest thing Yosuke’s ever seen. He isn’t saying a word, so Yosuke lets more ill-advised words blubber out of his mouth.

“Um. I don’t know if I’m gay or anything. Maybe just for you, I don’t know. And I know you’re interested in Yukiko, and that’s cool, I mean, I sort of expected—”

“I’m not,” Souji cuts in. He tugs on Yosuke’s wrist until Yosuke looks him in the eye. “Didn’t I tell you that before?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Yosuke, why do you think I met up with you that day in February?”

Souji’s looking at Yosuke urgently, like it’s important he understands the point Souji’s trying to make. Yosuke can hardly believe he’s never thought about this before, too wrapped up in his own homosexual panic to consider Souji’s side of the situation.

He can already _hear_ Chie’s voice in his head calling him a total moron.

“Um. Why did you?”

“Because I’m gay,” Souji says.

He says it so easily, like it’s _so simple_ , that Yosuke sputters for words. He’s surprised, but he also doesn’t know why he’s surprised, because now that he looks at the evidence, this really _shouldn’t_ haven’t come as a shock. Souji hooked up with Yosuke, a dude. Souji told him flat out that he wasn’t interested in any girls from school. Souji never once batted an eye at Kanji’s homosexual paradise of a dungeon. It’s starting to feel so obvious now that Yosuke feels like he should really check himself for missing brain cells.

“Oh,” Yosuke says. He must have the heart of fruit fly, because he feels like he’s about to pass out from all this incoming information. “So are you—I mean, _would_ you.” He stops, swallows, and loses his nerve.

Souji, like any good leader, _partner_ , fills in the gaps. “Yes,” he says, his hand moving from Yosuke’s wrist to his jaw, cautiously sliding his thumb over his cheekbone. They’ve done this before, and it wasn’t even _that_ long ago, but it still feels brand new, magical. “But only if you’re okay with it.”

Yosuke meets Souji’s cautious eyes. It reminds him of the last time they had this conversation, how Yosuke was acting like a spooked skunk all the way, ready to run off at a moment’s notice. It makes him want to laugh. He’s _still_ just as nervous, but he definitely knows what he wants this time around. It suddenly couldn’t be clearer.

“I’m okay with it. I’m like. _Really_ okay with it.”

And then, just to make it clear, Yosuke kisses him.

Their lips slot together easily, as if it already practiced routine. Suddenly, it _does_ feel a little familiar. Souji’s hands move to Yosuke’s waist and hold him just like he remembers, and his mouth parts under Yosuke’s just like it did before, and it all feels so dizzyingly like a reunion that everything up until now feels a bit like stupidly wasted time.

Souji must be on the same page, because without wasting any time, he pushes Yosuke down onto his bed, climbing on top of him and sliding their legs together until they feel like pieces of woven yarn, thoroughly connected and twined with each other. Yosuke isn’t as tentative this time around, arching up and kissing Souji just as hard as Souji’s kissing him, eager to make it obvious just how much he wants this. And god, how long _has_ he wanted this, and, more importantly, _denied_ himself this?

Souji starts up a trail of kisses down Yosuke’s jugular, slow, warm ones that leave Yosuke boneless (save for one very prominent boner). Teeth gingerly scrape over Yosuke’s neck, Souji’s mouth sealing over the sting and licking at it.

“Can I?” he asks, mouth hovering over Yosuke’s neck.

Yosuke is so wrapped up in the warm weight of Souji’s thigh wedged between his own that he hardly comprehends the question. “Hm? What?”

“I want to this time,” Souji says, briefly grazing teeth over Yosuke’s pulse point. “Leave marks.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Hell yeah.” A rare shot of logic shoves its way through the hormonal haze. “But my parents—”

“Wear scarves,” Souji suggests before descending on Yosuke’s neck again.

He also grinds his hips down a little bit, which is an unfair persuasive tactic that Yosuke considers disorderly conduct. His head falls back, helpless to deny Souji what he wants when it feels _so good_ , and then—

Then something starts vibrating under his spine. It takes Yosuke a hot second to realize it’s his cell phone.

“Shit,” he hisses, scrambling to worm it out from underneath himself. The screen flashes _Dad_. “Shit! Hello?”

He settles his tone of voice into something distinctly less dreamy, horny, I-was-in-the-goddamn-middle-of-something before picking up. He shrugs at Souji, honestly having never ever ever been this sorry about something before, probably because this time “something” is “interrupting their hot make out session.”

“Yosuke! Thank God. Where on earth are you?” his father shouts immediately. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Did you realize you left in the middle of your shift without saying a word?”

“Sorry,” Yosuke says. “Something came up. I realized, um.” He wracks his brain. “That I had homework due tomorrow I needed to work on.”

Hands have started rubbing up and down the length of Yosuke’s thighs. It’s _distracting_ , especially when deft fingers start pulling on his zipper and a hand palms Yosuke’s growing erection through his pants.

“Homework? You ran away from work because you suddenly remembered having homework?”

“Yeah!” Yosuke’s hand flies down to grab Souji’s wrist, not sure if he should be encouraging this or putting a stop to the madness. “Can we talk about this later maybe? Please?”

“Tonight. When I get home,” his father says, obviously not pleased. Yosuke’s not pleased either, but for entirely different reasons. Like the fact that he’s being cruelly _tortured_. “Honestly, Yosuke, I can't always be giving this so much slack just because you’re my son. I have to be able to rely on you as much as any of the other employees.”

“Dad!” Yosuke wails. “Later! Please?!”

“Yes, fine.” He sighs heavily. “We’ll talk tonight.”

Yosuke barely hums his agreement before he’s snapping his phone shut and flinging it aside, hands finding Souji’s hair, pulling on it perhaps a little harder than necessary. Souji, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind.

“You bastard,” Yosuke mutters. “In front of my dad?!”

Souji doesn’t say anything; instead he surges up and kisses him, threading hands into Yosuke’s hair and effectively making him forget everything aside from this moment, this feeling, this incredible sensation of Souji’s fingers massaging his head while Souji’s lips align with his. He’s a _good kisser_ , and while Yosuke isn’t brimming with kissing experience, he’s pretty sure it isn’t always this good, this seamless, this easy to fall into. 

They break the kiss only so Souji can yank Yosuke’s shirt over his head, Yosuke following the example and tugging Souji’s off too, only getting briefly caught up pulling it over Souji’s neck. A few months swinging swords around inside the TV has paid off handsomely, because Souji’s gone from a slender frame to more defined muscles, his shoulders a bit broader than Yosuke remembers, his arms bigger. And doesn’t he sometimes go to basketball practice too? How does the guy find enough hours in the day? Yosuke is—well, to say he’s impressed is putting it lightly. He’s always being impressed by Souji.

“Staring at something?” Souji asks, sounding a little breathless. It makes Yosuke inexplicably proud to hear him so unraveled.

“Just you,” Yosuke says, and even isn’t embarrassed to do so. “It’s kind of unfair, how you get to look like _that_.”

Souji smiles. “You’re not so bad either, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yosuke says, feeling the flattery heat up his cheeks. It’s almost hard to believe that this is real, that Souji finds him attractive, that they’re doing this for the second time _on purpose_ , and not just because of some Craiglist post throwing them together by chance. Yosuke is overwhelmed by the realization, by the strength of his own feelings, but before he can grab another kiss, Souji is occupying his mouth on Yosuke’s clavicle, tasting his skin while his hands slide up Yosuke’s sides. He might have a thing for Yosuke’s neck, particularly leaving an imprint, because then Souji’s sucking down on Yosuke’s pulse point _definitely_ hard enough to bring a bruise to the surface while his hands grip his waist, almost tickling him but not quite.

It feels _good_. It’s not a spot people are typically touching Yosuke, and his body knows it too, relishing in every flutter of Souji’s hands over his ribcage, his sternum, even the brief rubbing of his nipples. He can’t keep his helpless gasps in check, clutching at Souji’s back every time his hands explore somewhere new, reducing him to wobbly moans and pushy hips. Souji must get the hint, because a moment later, he’s sliding his way down Yosuke’s body, and Yosuke has a pretty good idea as to what his final destination is.

Yosuke seizes him by the shoulders, stopping him.

“Wait,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s my turn this time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s doing it. “Lemme try.”

Souji doesn’t argue him on it, instead letting Yosuke wrangle his way to the top. He looks _hot_ like this, lips reddened, hair a mess, eyes glued to Yosuke like there’s nothing he’d rather watch than Yosuke over him, pressing him into the sheets. A fresh batch of nerves swells up in Yosuke’s chest as he looks down and catches sight of the impressive bulge in Souji’s pants, but then Souji tips his chin up with a thumb and kisses him, effectively assuaging all of his worries.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Souji assures him, but Yosuke smashes their mouths back together before he can continue.

“Dude,” Yosuke says after a few seconds of euphorically hot making out, “Thanks and everything, but you gotta stop saying that. You have no clue how much I want to.”

Something a little mischievous tickles Souji’s grin. “How much?”

“Oh my god, _shut up_ ,” Yosuke mutters, suddenly hot all over. He hides his red face in Souji’s neck, biting down on the soft flesh and reveling in the heady noises he elicits, ones _he’s_ responsible for, because Souji actually _wants_ him, holy shit. It’s a little mind-boggling, especially when Souji bucks upward into Yosuke’s touch and has Yosuke clenching every muscle in his body to keep from shutting down this party too early.

With that in mind, he scoots down Souji’s body, tugging his pants down as he goes. It’s harder than it looks, trying to tug jeans off of someone, but Souji lifts his hips and kicks them off when Yosuke gets them down to his knees. When he’s face-to-face with Souji’s tented underwear, it occurs to him that this is the closest he’s ever been to another guy’s dick. The only time he’s ever been on eye-level with one.

Last chance to turn back, he thinks, mouth dry. He pulls Souji’s underwear down too, watching his cock slide free.

It’s hard, a little longer than Yosuke’s, and up and reporting for duty. Yosuke has never been this turned on in his life before, which he’s taking as a good sign. Distantly, he’s aware of the fact that he’s touched Souji’s cock before, but it was a quick fumble, a fast and dirty encounter, not like the personal one-on-one time Souji’s mouth had with Yosuke’s dick. He’s more than overdue to repay the favor.

“Um. If I suck at this—”

“You won’t,” Souji assures him, eyes so earnest that Yosuke has no choice but to believe him. He really is unfairly good at inspiring people.

“Except in the literal sense, right?” Yosuke asks, throwing in a quick wink. “Oh god. Forget I made that joke.”

He reaches out and grabs Souji’s cock. It’s warm in his hand, weightier than expected, and so, so different than holding his own. It would be terrifying, were it not for the high-pitched whines of pleasure Souji is unabashedly letting out, which are so unexpectedly arousing that Yosuke is having trouble not rutting down against the mattress for relief. He busies himself elsewhere for now, like taking the head of Souji’s cock in his mouth.

It tastes _different_ than what Yosuke expected. There’s an edge of saltiness there, but it’s not off-putting enough to scare Yosuke away, not when Souji’s thighs are twitching like he’s desperate to push upwards into Yosuke’s mouth, teeth pinning down his lower lip and hands tight on the sheets. That seems like a confidence booster if Yosuke’s ever seen one, so he dives right back in, this time with extra enthusiasm.

It does the trick, assuming Yosuke was in need of one. He lets go of some of his inhibitions—they haven’t gotten him anywhere so far—and grips Souji’s thighs, taking him further into his mouth. It’s a funny feeling, something so full in his mouth, on his tongue, but it’s also sort of exhilarating. Aside from when he summons Jiraiya, Yosuke’s not sure he’s ever felt this rawly powerful before, not when he spends most of his time struggling to finish his homework up before it’s time to turn it in and explaining to Junes customers why their coupons are invalid. Right now, he has his leader quaking and speechless underneath him, and Yosuke can only hope he won’t become hopelessly addicted to this feeling.

Oh god, he totally will. He is going to get _so_ addicted to sucking Souji’s dick.

Especially since Souji keeps letting out these breathless little iterations of Yosuke’s name, soft whispered _Yosuke_ s that make Yosuke go weak in the knees. He experiments a little bit, figuring out what works best, where his mouth fits well and what his tongue should be doing, and he’d say he’s a fast study, or at least, that’s what Souji’s body language is saying.

Yosuke doesn’t quite trust himself to swallow when Souji starts getting a telltale shudder in his thighs—he better walk before he runs—but Souji doesn’t seem to mind, yanking Yosuke up to face level to kiss him, _hard_ , as he comes against Yosuke’s thigh. The kiss feels a bit like gratitude for that stellar blowjob, or perhaps it’s just a warm-up for what’s to come, because a second later, Souji’s hand is in his underwear, stroking him, playing with—holy _shit_ , that’s a sensitive area.

He’s also keenly aware of the fact that his mother is downstairs, probably cooking dinner in the kitchen right now, and he needs to watch the decibel level of his pleasure here unless he wants to bring this entire operation to a screeching halt. He bites down on his palm to stay quiet, not trusting himself to keep the noises contained, especially when Souji picks up a rhythm that keeps Yosuke on his toes, going from tantalizingly slow and then speeding up to fast and needy. He _wishes_ he could let himself be loud, just let go, and he’s already daydreaming about nights spent like this at Souji’s place when Dojima’s on the job and Nanako’s at a sleepover and they can do this _everywhere_ , rambunctiously and repeatedly like the teenagers they are.

It’s over quickly, a little embarrassingly quickly. Yosuke just isn’t sure how to help himself when Souji is touching him just right and then adds in the kicker of slowly kissing up his neck, activating spots of sensitivity Yosuke didn’t even know he had. He clings onto Souji, hips arching up into his touch, and comes swallowing back broken moans and garbled versions of Souji’s name.

Reality sets in as Souji gently strokes his face, cupping his cheek. Yosuke turns to face him, vision a little swimmy, and waits for the panic and paranoia to come creeping in.

He waits. And waits. It doesn’t come. If it’s still coming, it’s taking a suspiciously long time.

“Hey, partner,” Yosuke says carefully.

“Mm?”

He reaches out to grab Souji’s elbow, just to have something to touch. “This is—you like me, right?”

Souji laughs. It takes a heart-stuttering moment for Yosuke to realize he isn’t being laughed _at_. “Yeah, I like you.”

“...like I like you?”

“How do you like me, Yosuke?”

Yosuke narrows his eyes. He has the distinct feeling he’s being played with, and rolls over onto his back to not have to look Souji in his smug little eyes. “Don’t make me say it!” he groans. Something pokes him in the stomach, probably Souji’s finger. “Fine! I like you a lot. I don’t want you to… be like this with anyone else.” _I just want it to be us, like, all the time,_ Yosuke thinks, insanely, and decides to tuck that one away. “I want to do stuff like this again with you.”

“Hmm,” Souji says after a moment’s consideration. “Sounds like you have a crush on me.”

“ _Dude_.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Wait, really?”

“Are you surprised?”

“Well, sort of,” Yosuke mumbles. “I mean. Everything I said the last few months… the way I treated you because of what happened...”

“It’s okay. You just weren’t ready. Not for this, anyway.”

That’s an understatement if Yosuke’s ever heard one. If Souji had asked him out on day one, that morning they met—again—in April, Yosuke would’ve gone running for the hills. As a matter of fact, he might’ve been so spooked that he never would’ve agreed to spend time with Souji _ever_. He might’ve never followed him into the TV, or awakened his power, or faced his other self, or—

Wow. Souji is tied to so many important things in Yosuke’s life that Yosuke can’t help but feel a blooming of warmth in his chest that all of these things _did_ work out, exactly like this, even if it was a long, twisting, complicated journey with a few too many unnecessary pit stops and time spent stopping for gas.

“Um,” Yosuke says, reaching forward to touch the back of Souji’s neck. “I think I’m ready now.”

Souji smiles. The brightness of it erases any and all of Yosuke’s fears.


End file.
